The Book of Daren: Erebor
by OrthodoxLily
Summary: Daren son of Faren, is raised in the halls of Erebor. He's a man, raised by Dwarves and as if that didn't make his life complicated enough, a dragon captures his home. Daren never thinks he'll live long enough to see Erebor again, but nearly a hundred years later he is still standing and ready to help his King reclaim it. But who is Isolde and why does she haunt his dreams?
1. Prologue

**_There and Back Again: A Hobbit's Tale _**

**_by Bilbo Baggins_**

**_Appendix D _**

_**Excerpt from "The Book of Durin" by Taro Iron-Arm**_

_**The Second Age, Pg 265, Verses 6-12**_

It was in the most fruitful years of the mighty city of Erebor, that all great Dwarven Lords were called forth to discuss matters of trade and the people's growing wealth. So it came to be that from the Iron Hills descended a council from the Clan known as Whitemane. Thier head was Forn, child of Fror who was brother to Thror, King Under the Mountain and with Forn was his young cousin Faren, who he called niece and had, upon her parent's death, taken into the clan. It was Faren who had been selected by the Valar to take on a great and foreign hardship.

Upon the Ides of March they stayed for rest, along the banks of the River Running and while her kin found sleep the young Faren could not. So, she sat along the banks braiding her hair and singing tales in a low but sultry voice that only Dwarf women possess. And it was while she sung of the building of the great city of Erebor that she was interrupted by a pained wail. It is said then that the moonlight shone upon a reed basket, as if by some deep magic, which had appeared on the river and lo' within there was a Child of Men. Filled with concern, Faren braved the waters and swam out to him, returning to shore soon thereafter with the child. And it was while she held him close and gazed upon him that she was bewitched, enamoured by the babe. So she gave him the name Daren, for her much loved father, and swore to Mahal that she would be his mother evermore.

Thus to the dwarves of Middle Earth came Daren son of Faren, Reclaimer of Kingdoms.


	2. Chapter 1: Child of Men

**Chapter 1: The Child of Men****  
**

"Daren!?" He heard his mother's voice echo from her room next door. The boy's round brown eyes remained wide and his mouth formed a perfect "O" as he stood there, stunned. When the young dwarf woman finally appeared through the door that joined their new chambers, she sighed in relief. She had never fancied herself the fretful type, but when it came to her young son she found she had a tendency to be overly concerned. When she had heard the resounding crash that had echoed throughout their rooms she had rushed to see what was the matter, only to find her mischievous little boy standing above a pile of armour. He must have knocked over the display that stood next to the door.

"Uh-oh!" Said the little boy, looking between his mother and the armour. "Sorry, mama." He then promptly plopped down and tried to put it back together again. She watched him for a moment as he tried and failed to attach an iron gauntlet to the helmet. She chuckled. He pouted and tried again.

"Come away from there, Daren. I'll call someone to fix it, but you must be more careful!" She scolded lightly, knowing the boy was still too young to understand exactly what wrong he had committed by accident. Especially since he was obviously sorry and wished to fix the problem he had caused. She would let it slide for now. They had more important things to do.

The tiny woman bent down and hoisted him up onto her hip, years of battle experience helping her adjust to his weight. But being human he would soon outgrow her, even at 4 years he was nearly the size of a 7 year old dwarf lad. Had she not been trained to carry excess weight she probably wouldn't be able to lift him at all.

"We both have to get dressed in our good clothes now, my treasure." She told him, ruffling his dark ringlets. Immediately, the boy looked appalled.

"No!" The boy protested, squirming to get away. Sometimes she swore he was actually dwarf; any dwarf man usually acted the same manner about getting dressed up. She assumed royalty was different, though she had honestly never met them.

"Yes, Daren. We need to wear nice clothes so we can go see Uncle Forn and the King." She explained calmly, putting him on the bed and going over to his chest wear she pulled out a light blue tunic and dark breeches. She held them up and the boy wrinkled his nose but the mention of his Uncle kept him silent. Despite the difference in race, Daren adored Forn and the feeling, it seemed, was mutual.

When she had first found Daren nearly 4 years ago, she had been travelling to Erebor with her Uncle Forn. Upon discovering the babe, many in the company had tried to persuade her to be rid of it, but not Forn. It seemed he too had been drawn to the child and never once asked her to be rid of it. Instead, he simply ordered she take the child and return home to the Iron Hills. The rest of the journey to Erebor would be too dangerous for an infant.

When he had returned from Erebor, Forn had officially accepted the then one year old Daren into the Whitemane clan and he had helped Faren become used to the life of a parent. Now, only three years later her Uncle invited both her and her son to court with him in Erebor. Everyone had been surprised that the respectable dwarf would parade his Niece's man-child around a dwarvish court. He simply replied that since Daren was male and a member of the Whitemane clan, he was by law his heir. Indeed, Forn had never married or even had bastard children and because Faren was female, any child she birthed belonged to her husband's line. But she had not birthed Daren, meaning that Forn had been given another chance to raise an heir the way he pleased. Nevermind, Daren's shorter lifespan. Daren would be trained to wait until a dwarf in the clan came along, who was strong in both body, virtue and sense and name that dwarf his heir. Problem solved, the clan wouldn't end up in the wrong hands.

She was sickened to think of her child in such a political way, like a stepping stone, but she understood that Forn still thought of Daren's interests as well and that was a comfort.

She carefully dressed the boy, encircling his tunic with a decorative silver belt; a common fashion amongst dwarves of higher class. She also twirled a Whitemane patterned braid into his dark hair, completing it and tucking it behind his ear. She then allowed him to busy himself with a toy that her Uncle had sent to their room while she changed herself.

Even if they had been the same race, she and her son looked nothing alike. While he was tan, dark eyed and haired she was the opposite, gifted with a long mane of white-blond curls, pale skin and seafoam eyes. She fixed her braids, one matching that of her son - a Whitemane braid - and the other being one to represent her son. It was common for female dwarves to braid their hair and beards to represent their sons, often each son had a different coloured bead at the end. The bead she had chosen for Daren was onyx, a representation of the night he had found her. She would've prefered to have such a braid on her beard, but she did not have one. She only had prominent sideburns which traced her jaw line to mid-cheek.

She dressed more finely than usual, tearing off her breeches and tunic, replacing them with a long cerulean, celtic style dress trimmed with silver embroidery.

She frowned at herself in the mirror and turned when there was a knock on the door to her room. She checked up on her son one last time, pulled on a long white fur cloak and then went into her own room and to the main doors. When she answered it she was greeted by a pair of silver, armour clad guards.

The taller of the two spoke.

"We've been asked to escort both yerself and the young master Daren to the throne room, Milady Faren." She smiled politely and nodded. She began to turn to call Daren only to jump when she seen a flash of dark hair and felt small hands clinging to the back of her skirt. He was hiding. A reaction he had picked up over the years. Dwarves were always shocked to see that he was of the race of men and some reacted less than favourably.

"Come, Daren. These nice guards have come to escort us to Uncle and the King." She took his hand gently and pulled him around until he was in plain sight. The guards were obviously shocked at his race, but duty kept them silent. But she was sure all of Erebor would know by morning. They had come into Erebor during the night and Daren had been asleep in her arms, practically submerged in a thick blanket. Any who had glimpsed him in the dark last night had only thought him a sleeping dwarf child.

"This way, milady." The other dwarf gestured, while the taller closed the doors behind them. Daren eyed the halls with wide astonished eyes, awestruck by the tall caverns and carefully carved stone arches. She hadn't gotten far when the boy brought her to a halt.

"Look! Look, mama!" The little boy tugged and jumped, excited and she followed his finger, laughing when she seen what the fuss was about. The forge. Daren had almost more fascination with the craftsmanship that went into blade and helm than even most dwarf children. She smiled, wistfully.

"Can we go? Can we see, please? It's so big, mama! Bigger than even Karn's forge!" Karn was the best blacksmith in all of the Iron Hills and one of Forn's good friends, so naturally the crusty old smith had been forced to babysit once or twice. Karn was another dwarf that Daren idolized, but rightly so and although he would never admit it there were times it seemed the old dwarf didn't mind the boys company as much as he let on. It was hard to dissuade her son's enthusiasm, but they had to press on.

It was the taller guard who spoke before she could say anything, warmth sparkling in his more experienced eyes now that the shock had dissipated. Good, she didn't understand how some couldn't see that he was just a child, like any other.

"I'm afraid you and your mama have ta' go an' see the King now, laddie. But I'm sure ifin ya' ask politely someone'il take ya." The answer surprisingly satisfied the boy, the promise of perhaps being allowed to investigate the forge calming him slightly. The two guards seemed to warm up after that, chuckling at the sounds of awe coming from the little boy's mouth. He was really only echoing his mother's thoughts. Faren had never seen Erebor before and now that she truly paid attention she was sure it was the most magnificent place she'd ever seen. 

"The throne room, milady." She was pulled out of her haze when they came to two, large stone doors. How many dwarves did it take to open that? Her question was answered by a snap to her left and she looked to see several large gears begin turning. Slowly the doors scrapped open. She took a breath and then whispered to her son. 

"How do we address the King, Daren?"

"I bow and say: thank you for having me in your great city, King Thror."

She smiled. He sounded so rehearsed. But that was the truth, she had made him rehearse. Her son could never embarrass her no matter what he did, but she was afraid he would embarrass her Uncle. Keeping Uncle Forn happy was the world to her, after all he'd done he shouldn't be uncomfortable because of them. 

When the doors were fully open she was greeted with a great, overly large hall and in the distance, on the other side, was a throne surrounded by a few other figures. The group was talking and hadn't noticed them, the sound of the doors melding into the other sounds of the Lonely Mountain. While she was trying to decipher the figures, Daren slipped ecstatically from her grasp and dashed across the room. She gasped, her heart nearly stopped and she picked up her skirts, running after him with as much composure as she could muster.

He was very quick, far faster than she and before she had made it halfway across the room he had already reached the group and sprang upon the back of a tall dwarf with a long white beard and well-kept mane of hair. Uncle Forn. The damage done, she slowed slightly but still maintained a brisk pace, distraught. How would he react?

"What in Middle-earth!?" He shouted at first, then upon eying the culprit let out a great belly laugh. Relief welled in her chest. 

He hauled the boy from his back and into his arms, laughing and playful muttering which made a nice contrast with Daren's excited giggles. The surrounding dwarves had expressions that ranged from amused to appalled. Though whether it was because of the pairs actions or the fact they had realized Daren was not a dwarf, Faren was not sure.

Her eyes were drawn more prominently to King Thror, who sat upon his throne with a small smile and twinkling eyes and to the two younger dwarves that stood closely on either side. One was his son, Thrain, who she recognized from when she was younger. Forn and Thrain were close cousins, so it was only natural that they visited each other for hunts, trade and general party going. The other dwarf she had never seen, but she knew instantly it was Thrain's son, Thorin II. Any other female dwarf she had ever met had described that he had the most piercing blue eyes, riddled with rolling emotions like a storm. That had to be him.

"Where's your mother, young one?" Daren looked over his Uncle's shoulder and giggled, pointing at her. She let her amusement at the situation shine through her distress so that when the group focused on her they seen only a composed lady, with an unreadable expression. She curtseyed.

"My apologies, Uncle, my lords. He got away from me, I will try my best to ensure the incident is not repeated." Her eyes drifted to her son, who was oblivious and playing with his Uncle's beard. Both males seemed contented with each others presence. Any doubts she may have had about her Uncle not really caring for Daren quickly dissipated at the sight.

"See that it doesn't." Quipped a particularly short, grey bearded dwarf with bright eyes. She recognized him as Borin. It wasn't that the dwarf was mean, but he was old and crotchety and was at a point in his life where he hated anything youthful or joyful.

"Oh, Uncle Borin," Began the King, "Just because you don't like to see enthusiasm in my halls anymore does not mean that I wish the same. I haven't seen so much joy in the throne room since Thorin was a lad. Contrarily, I welcome it! The long winter has sapped away too much mirth this year." He then turned to Daren, whose attention had gone to the man who had defended him. "Come here and see an old dwarf, little one."

Wearily, the boy looked to both his mother and uncle who nodded in turn, his mother adding a sweet smile. Then he climbed down and quietly wandered over to the king, trying to avoid the eyes of all those assembled. Only now had the child realised how many dwarves were staring at him. He came right up to the foot of the throne and then bowed, suddenly remembering what his mother had made him practice.

"Thank you for having me in your great city, King Thror." There was no response, from any. The room was still. They had finally noticed, that the boy was of the race of man. There was silence and it lasted a long while. When she felt the silence had gone on too long Faren grew fearful and forgot proprietary, snatching her son from the crowd of dwarves and tugging him close to her. The action brought most of the group to their senses.

"Cousin...you mean to tell me that you have chosen a son of man to be heir of your clan?" Thrain began. His tone was not outraged, but soft and disbelieving. Forn and Thrain had many tales of great battles they had fought together, they were as close as brothers and she could tell Thrain wished that he could defend Forn, but simply didn't know how.

Upon realising what was about to unfold, Daren shrank into his mother's chest. He had heard many similar arguments in the past. He didn't like them, people yelled and always said very nasty things about his Uncle or mama. Worst part was that they always followed him everywhere and no matter what he did the arguments kept happening. He wasn't sure why. But he knew the arguments always began with the words "son of man" or "man child". He remembered that back in the Iron Hills he had tried wearing one of his mother's dresses thinking that it was because he was a boy and not a girl, but his mother had only shook her head and said that that was not it.

"Are you insane!?" Borin practically screeched. "You've chosen your heir from the race of men? I thought you had more sense than that!"

"I had little choice. Tradition dictates the heir of the clan is the firstborn male of closest relation. Faren had claimed the boy as her own, making him so." Forn remained calm. He was used to verbally defending himself over this matter. 

"Bah! Claimed him as her own? How do we know that _child_ isn't some half-breed bastard that she's birthed herself. If that's the case than it's an abomination and it shouldn't exist to begin with." Borin continued. That would be even worse than having a man for an heir, because it would mean that Faren was a traitor to her people and traditions. In dwarvish customs sleeping with one of another race was punishable by death. Dwarves believed in light and dark, fire and ice, good and evil. There was no inbetween. The same could be said for races.

"You will not question my niece's honor, Master Borin!" The two began an illegible shouting match. Thrain had rushed to try and calm whole time the King had sat in a daze while others had begun fighting as well.

It was Thorin who stopped it all. After he had noticed that the child was a man he had been initially upset, though not outraged like master Borin. He had stared long and hard at the child, contemplating why Forn could have possibly felt that this was a good decision. Forn had been an important part of his youth and he couldn't believe the great dwarf lord would make such an odd decision. He had agreed with Borin, right up until he had questioned the Lady Faren's honour. She was enticing, of that there was no doubt, but to a dwarf. He had spoken to enough men in Dale to know that the race of men didn't find dwarf women very comely, mostly because of their beards and stature. And the child clearly held no resemblance to the female in any way. Should a child not share at least one trait with his mother? Thorin had his mother's eyes. He used this observation as an excuse to rake his eyes down her form. No baby weight. it was commonly known that female dwarves never lost the weight from their first pregnancy and for a female dwarf she was slim.

"Silence!" Thorin yelled and the room became stunned. "Goblins have more order than this." He scolded in a disgusted tone. 

And with that Thror came to. 

"Indeed." Grumbled the King, deep in thought. "Borin, please give Forn a chance to explain his thoughts and plans to us. Surely he wouldn't make these decisions as carelessly as you have implied. I also believe you are owing the Lady Faren an apology." The King smiled at Faren, but it was forced and heavy. She knew the feeling, she was struggling to return it. Upon Thorin's shout Daren had stopped hiding in his mother's bosom, choosing instead to turn widened eyes to stare at the young dwarf prince. Borin barely muttered an apology, but that was enough. Faren could have lived without one altogether, it wasn't the first time such things had been implied nor would it be the last. He then brought his attention to his grandson."Thorin. Perhaps it was best if you were to show Lady Faren and young Master Daren our city."

Thorin was silent, contemplating protest but decided against it. He nodded, bowed to his elders and briskly ushered the two guests out of the throne room and back out into the city. It was probably best if the Lady and her...son, were not present for the conversation that was about to transpire.

When the doors scrapped closed behind them they stood there in uncomfortable silence. Now that his of goal getting them out of the throne room was completed, it seemed he had no clue what was next. He was supposed to show them the city, but the city was large and there was no way they could see it all.

Daren had been staring at the younger dwarf man since his earlier commanding shout. It must be a magic power, the young boy decided, because even uncle Forn couldn't silence a room with a single shout. Who was this dwarf?

"Mama, who is that?" He asked, with little discretion.

"Who is who, my treasure?" Faren was still slightly out of sorts after the commotion of the throne room and searched the great stone halls for the dwarf her son was speaking of. She never thought to look to her left.

"That dwarf!" Daren raised his voice, pointing at the prince. "The really loud one!" Thorin started, looking back at the child with dismay. Thorin was not good with children, something his sister Dis had always teased him for. No matter what he always seemed to frighten young ones, _especially_ when he wasn't trying to.

"Daren!" His mother scolded, terrified that the prince would be offended. "It's not polite to point!"

Thorin braced himself for another ill encounter with a child. "I am Thorin, son of Thrain son of Thror." He introduced slowly. He hadn't really seen the pointing as a rude gesture; it was a thing children did and he could think of quite a few adult dwarves who still did it.

"Thorin, can you teach me how to use the magic voice?" Daren asked, before adding a 'please' as an after thought. Both young adults were positively baffled. The what?

"Excuse me?" Thorin asked, searching Faren's eyes for an explanation. She returned an extremely baffled look.

"The voice that you used to quiet the yelling. Even Uncle Forn can't do that! I wanna learn too, because when people yell it upsets mama."Both adults stood in a stunned silence both looking to each other for hints. There was none, so Faren changed the subject.

"Daren, why don't you ask Prince Thorin if he could show us the forge?" She said. The boy forgot his earlier question almost instantly, blinded by the promise of seeing the great forges of Erebor.

XxX

Daren watched, slightly confused, as the armoured dwarves slid the stone lid closed, causing his Uncle's pale face to disappear. His mother stood beside him, stone faced and biting her bottom lip. She was not focused; her eyes were distant. When the lid closed completely, with a large "crack" his mother jumped and squeezed his hand. Today his mother's eyes were dry but she had cried a day previous, when the taller guard from when they had first arrived had appeared and muttered something to her. She had laid on her bed and cried and Daren wasn't sure what to do, so he'd laid down next to her and let her hug him.

Their next guest had been Thorin, who the young boy had let in instinctually. Lately Thorin had spent quite a bit of time with him and his mama. Daren thought Thorin was the best prince ever, because he was strong, hewas very nice to him and he made his mama smile. He scared away all the bad people that always used to make his mama sad and he took Daren to visit the forge every wednesday.

Thorin had held his mama, muttered to her about something and eventually she had stopped crying.

And now they were putting his Uncle in a tomb and burying him under the mountain. His mama told him that his uncle was finding peace under the mountain, but Daren wasn't so sure. But when he stared down the mineshafts and into the depths of the mountain, Daren couldn't see any peace but he imagined once or twice that there were goblins. He told his mother this and she had laughed bitterly.

If Uncle Forn had found peace he never returned to share it.


	3. Chapter 2: The Sickness of Durin's Kin

**Chapter 2: The Sickness of Durin's Kin**

Sparks flew as hammer smashed metal, forming a gleaming blade of dwarvish make. A blade fit for kings. Through this process, the boy watched wide eyed from his place in the far corner. Marik allowed him to visit the forge and watch, not by choice but by order. Thorin had made it clear long ago that, despite his differences, Daren was a ward of a great clan and deserved to be treated as such. It used to be such things would not be a problem, but nowadays Thorin's word was the only thing that kept him privileged. A few years ago, shortly after he and his mother had arrived in Erebor, Goblins had attacked the Iron Hills. With the royal family at his side, Forn rode out to face the goblins and, by will of Mahal, scared them away. But at great cost. Forn had been killed, taking a poisoned, barbed arrow to the chest. There had been no saving him.

At just over 4 years of age, Daren had not understood what was going on. He only remembered quite a bit of crying and feeling very lonely. And his mother telling him that they would not be able to return to the Iron Hills for some time. Now he understood more.

With his uncle gone, himself so young and no other male dwarves of the Whitemane willing to defend him he was removed from his position as heir to the Whitemane clan. It seemed the clan's dislike for him was more passionate than they'd ever let on, for their new leader Labur son of Dagnur ordered that Daren and his mother be returned to the Iron Hills for prosecution. They were to be convicted for crimes against the clan.

Thror had refused to become involved in the whole affair for fear of the other colonies embargoing Erebor. That is, he refused until Faren had come to him on her hands and knees pleading for her son's life. In the night, Labur had sent messengers to inform her that her and her son's days were numbered. The entire royal family had listened to Faren's story and been appalled by the lengths the new Lord of the Whitemane clan was going through to destroy his competition. While they honestly didn't agree with the decision to make Daren heir, the boy was still simply an innocent. As for Faren Whitemane, the young dwarf was only guilty of taking in and loving a child who was not her own by blood. Neither deserved to be tried as criminals, nor did they deserve death.

That was when Thror put his foot down. Labur Whitemane had gone too far. Daren son of Faren and his mother were now Wards of the line of Durin, citizens of Erebor and as such they were protected by his was very vocal about this matter and soon, Labur and his spies were scared away.

Life resumed then for Daren.

Thorin who had become a friend to his mother had taken it upon himself to use his influence to make life for the pair bearable. And it was. When Marik finally shooed the curious ten year old from his forge Daren was met by Thorin. At ten, Daren stood only a few inches below Thorin's height. He dreaded the day he finally outgrew Thorin's father Thain, the tallest dwarf in Erebor, but he wasn't naive enough to believe it would never happen.

"How are you, lad?" Thorin questioned. Thier meeting had been happenstance. Thorin was walking with a few nobles who appeared to be from colonies to the south, near the Sea of Rhun. You could always tell them by their dark eyes, red hair and square jaws. He had most likely been ordered to be their tour guide, as Thain had travelled with a party to the Ettenmoors and Thror had seemed increasingly busy as of late. Even the young man child had noticed that the King had ceased spending as much time with his people. No matter what he was doing, Thorin always stopped to speak with the boy. It made Daren feel good, like for once he was included in society instead of a spurned edition.

"I am fine Prince Thorin. How are you?" In public the two would share pleasantries but when alone Prince Thorin, son of Thain son of Thror was simply Thorin, and the tolerated man child of Faren Whitemane was simply, Daren.

"Well enough. You'll meet me at noon for training." It was a command. Since he had turned ten and gained such height, Thorin had decided that it was time to teach the boy to handle weapons. When Thorin had offered to train him in swordsmanship, Daren had been all ears; eager to please the people who he now understood as his saviours. It had taken some convincing, but his mother had finally consented knowing that any argument she made would be invalid. Faren was considered a master with the Greatsword herself, so protesting his age would only bring about counter arguments involving her gender. Since Thrain had left, however, Thorin had been very busy and their training schedule had been reduced to whenever the prince found the time. His mother helped when she could, but once he had grown beyond needing her constantly, she had taken a position as a royal guard for King Thror and as such was usually occupied herself.

With a nod, Thorin turned on his heel and led the group away. Some glanced back and whispered amongst each other with furrowed brows. Daren rushed back to the chambers he and his mother shared and began to polish his sword and light armour, eagerly waiting noontime.

XxX

Daren had wanted to learn the style of the Greatsword like his mother, but it was quickly discovered that he had no talent for that kind of blade. His arches and blocks were beyond sloppy and even drawing it proved to be a problem. Instead, he and Thorin had discovered that he had natural talent with the broadsword. It was Thorin's weapon of choice as well, so when the boys natural skill was discovered the prince became more enthusiastic about their training sessions.

At precisely noon, Daren entered the throne room unhindered as his presence had become frequent. He stopped short when he caught sight of the dwarf he had been searching for who was now otherwise occupied. Thorin stood at the opposite end of the courtyard, standing close to a guard who he recognized as his mother. The two were in deep conversation and it was moments like these when the boy was reminded of the interesting relationship the pair had.

Even though they were clearly submerged in talks of business the two still managed to exude a potent intimacy. There was something about how they leaned close, the way Thorin would ensured constant eye contact or the way Faren would instigate small brushes of the hand that made their affections thick and heavy. Hot. Even Daren, at only ten years of age, had noticed!

Quietly, he made his way towards the two so as hopefully to not to invoke the prince's ire. He had learned the hard way that because such moments were few and far between, the dwarf royal was especially irked when his time with Faren was disturbed. Even if it was by her own son. He had suffered more than one stoney glare, although he remembered them being brief.

"You are no fool, Thorin. You've noticed. Do not turn a blind eye on such things, even for love of your kin. I fear-" Her harsh whisper stopped short when she caught her son's approach from the corner of her eye. Instead of continuing she greeted him. "Hello, my dear. Training today, are we?" She had used to refer to him as "my treasure", but lately she had been avoiding the term. The boy had liked the name, so he was slightly saddened by its discontinued use.

"Hello, mother. I came at noontime, Thorin. I'm sorry if I interrupted." He had clearly interrupted and Thorin was not one for false pleasantries, so instead of saying anything harsh the dwarf prince decided to nod.

"Just wait here another moment, Daren. I'm going to escort your mother back to her post." The dwarf man said, his eyes sliding pointedly to Faren in order to communicate some silent message. His mother stroked his hair and kissed his forehead, before the two dwarves went on their way.

Now, Daren had every intention of doing what he was told initially. He watched as his mother and the prince drifted away, heads once again close together and vague whispers reaching his ears. Then, faintly, the boy heard the sound of many small objects clattering to the floor. He paused, anticipating. Just when he'd nearly decided his mind had conjured the sound, he heard it again. When it was empty, the throne room was usually unbearably quiet, so to hear a sound inside it was interesting.

For some reason his eyes strayed to the Arkenstone, which gleamed and glittered above Thror's now empty throne. Overbearingly, the shimmering jewel seemed to gnaw at his mind and glare down upon him like a harsh eye. He fidgeted for a long while, becoming nearly frightened by it. He heard the noise again; it was like coins.

Intrigued, the boy drifted towards the sound which led him down a corridor he had never been in before. Upon inspecting the banners that hung heavily from the walls he became aware of why too. It seemed he had ventured into the royal wing and near the personal chambers of Durin's line. The noise became louder. He briefly contemplated turning back. While it was true he had never been told that he could not enter the royal wing, he still felt unwelcome in the halls. They were darker than the others of Erebor and if possible, more magnificent. How many hundreds of years did such craftsmanship take? He pushed the foreboding aside, much too curious about the sound for his own good. Not to mention remaining in the throne room would mean having to stand under the glare of the Arkenstone.

With no trouble, Daren came across two stone doors wide open and when he looked within he was met with a magnificent sight. A sea of gold and treasures covered the floor of the room within and entranced among the gold was King Thror. While Daren dreaded to think of him as something lesser, the King seemed to have lost his mind. He was prancing and twirling; not to mention singing to himself. He sung of the glories of gold and jewels. The sight unnerved the boy to the point that he took a step back, right into the rock hard chest of a dwarf.

He was nearly comforted by the disapproving stare of the prince, which softened when the boys relief became obvious. Instead they share a muted look. So, Daren was not the only one highly disturbed by such behaviour. The two stood there for a little while longer, both watching the King with heavy expressions until Thorin had decided it was enough. The prince clamped the boy's shoulder with a hand and steered him away from the discomforting sight of the King and back towards the throne room.

"You shouldn't have had to see that." The dwarf muttered, more to himself than the boy. They lapsed in silence after that, until despite his discomfort the child dared to ask about what he had just witnessed.

"Is King Thror alright?" He asked the prince, with an innocence that halted the prince instantly. Thorin remained silent for a few more moments, before he turned to the boy and increased his current grip on the boys shoulder. Daren winced but Thorin didn't seem to notice.

"I don't know, Daren." The prince replied, allowing a little despair to seep through onto his face. It seemed as if he'd finally admitted something to himself. "He's ill, struck with an incurable disease that has poisoned the minds of my kin for generations."

Daren was further confused. He'd never heard of incurable illness before. He'd never heard of illness, not among dwarves anyway. Dwarves were of hearty constitution and were rarely conflicted with illness. Battle wounds, yes. Hangovers, yes. But never illness. To think the royal family could be daunted by such a thing. He was disbelieving, and he told Thorin so with his next comment. "I thought dwarves couldn't get sick." Thorin didn't respond, so the boy prodded on with his next question as they entered the throne room once more.

"Will you fall ill too, Thorin?" Thorin's expression, which had remained deep in thought and despair since the subject had been breached then turned stormy. He cast a glance at the arkenstone, whose brilliance feintly bathed the two figures below in golden light.

"I should hope not."

His voice held a deep conviction that the boy could not yet comprehend.


	4. Chapter 3: The Crystalline Dagger

**Chapter 3: The Crystalline Dagger**

A laugh escaped his lips, mischief twinkling in his eyes as he danced back, away from the prince's blade. They parried and then loosed the hold, blades scraping against one another with tremendous force. The boy, now nearing manhood, laughed again as the shorter male nearly lost his footing. It was this laugh though, that would be his demise. While he was distracted by his mirth, the shorter figure ran forward, smashing his hilt into the light armour of the boys chest. That set him off balance and gave the prince time to throw the adolescent to the ground and pin him down with his foot. The dwarf was shorter, but outweighed him and it was this that gave him the advantage. The dwarf promptly moved the tip of his blade to the boys neck, smirking down at him triumphantly.

"Do you yield?" He asked.

"Never!" Said the boy, though whether he was serious or not you couldn't be sure. The dwarf pressed a little harder with his foot and the boy began to laugh again. "Alright, alright! I yield!"

The dwarf smiled, sheathed his sword and pulled the lithe teen up. He was fifteen now, bordering on manhood. Already, he stood at five foot six and was attempting to grow a beard. Because of his human genes it was not yet long enough to braid, but he was respected for trying to follow dwarvish customs. His dark, curly hair fell to just below his ears and was prominently decorated now. He had a braid for his mother and one for Thorin, which he had braided side by side. He dared not connect them, because that would mean they were both his parents and that would certainly cause scandal. The two had helped shape the man he was becoming, and for that they both held a special place in his heart. He no longer bore the Whitemane braid like he had as a child; instead it was replaced by one to represent Erebor and another that represented the line of Durin. He still remembered when Thorin had surprised him one day, sitting him down after training to twist the significant braid into his hair. They hadn't exchanged words about it, but through actions Thorin had demonstrated that he shared a close bond with the boy as well.

As he had aged and his presence had become common, he encountered fewer whispers and rude remarks. He bore his full name, Daren son of Faren. He had also overheard conversations in which he was addressed as Daren Durinsward. As he got older, Thorin had surprised even his own father and grandfather by switching a few hours of Daren's lessons to that of diplomacy. Such lessons were usually reserved for royalty, but Thorin's argument was that if taught properly one day Daren would be an impressive Trade Minister. He was a man, raised by dwarves. He was perfect mutual ground.

"If you do not train seriously you will continue to be beaten." Thorin told him plainly. As much as he too enjoyed sparring with the youth, he found the boy was often distracted.

He feared the day he faced a real battle.

"I _am_ training seriously." Daren protested indignantly, sheathing his sword and crossing his arms.

" Every. Single. Time." Thorin replied, ignoring the childish comment. He hoped he had taught the boy better than to be so thick headed.

Before anymore conversation could be had, a guard appeared and addressed Thorin.

"Prince Thorin...they're here. The King has requested your presence in the throne room."

Thorin nodded, but looked slightly perturbed. "They're early." He then left the room, calling Daren to come along with him. Daren was confused as both he and the dwarf prince hurried along the long, deep corridors of Erebor. Who was here? Thorin was never so eager about guests, in fact he hated them and procrastinated when things involved them. Usually when they were training already and Thorin was informed of guests, Daren would receive an extra hour of practice.

"Um, Thorin-" He meant to ask the prince plainly, but he was silenced when Thorin stopped abruptly in the hall. A few maids scurried from a nearby room, removed the mail the prince had worn to training and placed his best, black bear pelt upon his shoulders. Daren simply watched as the servants busied themselves for only a moment upon himself, using a cloth to dust of his own mail, before disappearing. Daren furrowed his brows, wondering where they had disappeared to. He made a note to check for hidden passages the next time he was free.

"When we enter the throne room, go stand to your mother's right." The prince ordered, without another glance in his direction. Daren consented with a grunt and the two entered the throne room. There was no one particularly special there, but the royal family was assembled. Taller guard handed an ornate chest to Thorin who grunted , stared at it a moment and then passed it off to Daren. "Hold this." He then went back to adjusting his clothes.

Curious, Daren went to slowly lift the lid, but Thorin's firm hand snapped the lid closed again. The hand was accompanied by a stern look. Daren got the message. Remembering the dwarf prince's earlier statement he began to observe the throne room, which seemed slightly more extravagant than usual. The blue, purple and orange banners bearing the symbols of the dwarf clans had been re-hung; something that usually only happened on Durin's Day. Truly there must be some great event taking place this day.

His eyes finally landed on his mother, dressed in her finest gold-plated armor. Taking a breath, he and Thorin crossed the throne room. Thorin mounted the steps, nodding at his father as he passed and stood to the King's right, standing with one hand resting upon the hilt of his sword. Daren stayed on the ground, seeking out his mother who stood off the platform and to the right. She smiled at him, as she always did, with the same twinkling, aquamarine eyes. A few years ago she had been promoted to head of the royal guard and while he was sure she was skilled and organized, he believed Thorin had something to do with it. Even now he noticed how the dwarf's eyes lingered on the woman, who somehow managed to remain completely oblivious. Now a teenager, Daren further understood the blossoming - and yet frighteningly serious- relationship that the two had. He himself had been tiptoeing around a human girl from Dale quite a bit lately; only yesterday Daren had sent her flowers as per his mother's suggestion. He had yet to actually speak to her. But this was not some adolescent infatuation that the two dwarves shared; there was something deeper that had yet to fully emerge.

He did as Thorin had instructed, making sure to hold the somehow significant box in such a way that could be deemed proper. He was still curious as to what was in it, but a flash of Thorin's stormy eyes stayed his hand once more. He pouted but then relented; he'd find out soon enough.

Before much more contemplation had passed there were trumpets and the stone doors to the throne room swung open.

A company of elves entered.

Daren was fascinated. He'd only ever heard stories about elves and none of them were pleasant, but he still couldn't help his awe. They shined and glittered, even in the dim, like they were made of polished crystal. They were also tall, taller than any man that Daren had ever seen. In fact, even in Dale, Daren had found that he was among the tallest that walked the streets. He had been told that to the North there were men that had elven blood and stood even taller than he, but he had his doubts. Until now. The tallest elf was at the front, wrapped in long silken robes of grey. Upon his head was a crown, that changed with the seasons. This was Thranduil, the boy decided, Elvenking of Mirkwood.

He glanced as his mother and noticed she was unmoved. He also looked to the royal family; they too did not seem awestruck. It must be a dwarf thing.

He instantly schooled the intrigue from his face; it was best not to stand out at this point. Although elegant and awesome, the elf king practically leaked a potent dislike for the dwarves before him. Even when Thror smiled at him, it was not returned, not even for sake of propriety. They exchanged few words; Thror simply welcomed the elf to his home and asked of his journey. The elf said little in return; mostly what Daren got out of the conversation was that everything was "fine" on the elven front.

"For you, in honor of our new alliance, I have a gift." Thror told the Elvenking merrily. He stood then, making his way down the steps at a leisurely pace. Thorin eyed him. At first Daren wasn't sure what that meant, but the light pressure of one of his mother's hands at his back guided him. He approached, stopping at a polite yet efficient distance from the two Kings. He bowed his head and extended the box, feeling it was the appropriate thing to do. He heard Thror open the chest and didn't rise until the lid snapped down again. He took a step back before he did anything else.

He saw what had been in the box.

It was a dagger of dwarvish make, with a mithril blade, gold filigree and gleaming crystal upon the hilt. It was a masterpiece. He suddenly felt foolish; to think he had been so curious to see what was in the box and it had turned out to be something he had already seen before.

In fact he had made it.

His years in the forge recreationally and his lessons there as well had rendered him quite adept at the dwarvish art of smithing. That dagger had been commissioned by the King himself and had been Daren's final assignment before the dwarves had deemed him a worthy smith, no longer in need of lessons. But the dagger was different. The blade's hilt had not been so well done, however, when the boy had designed and made it. The crystal had not been set perfectly; well but not perfectly. The jewels before would have fallen off if the owner had been forced to use it in combat, now they were well set. They must've commissioned old Marik to clean the work up a bit. The blade now curved slightly at the tip, it never had before. That was Marik's mark.

The elvenking nodded, taking the dagger from the extended hands of the dwarf king and inspecting it. His eyes lit up, though the cause remained elusive. It was at that moment that Daren decided he didn't like the elvenking very much. Through all his beauty and mystery, he was completely aloof. A trait he had grown to dislike, having been raised by dwarves. Dwarves were obvious, not find of lies nor trickery and passionate about openly sharing their opinions. For a man, sorry elf, to not show what he was truly thinking to his allies or friends was deceit and cowardice. Furthermore, the elf seemed to find this mask far too easy to conjure. Not once did he smile, not even out of politeness. As if he deemed the dwarves unworthy of such consideration.

Standing there, the boy suddenly wished the elf would just take the dagger and leave; he had already tired of the creature's facade and condescending presence.

He soon got his wish.

The elves left that same day, not keen to spend the night inside a mountain. Something about not being able to see the stars…

XxX

Faren stood on the balcony, watching the procession of elves descend the mountain's twisting steps. The sun was setting, casting a warm, orange glow upon the side of the Lonely Mountain. Daren was at the forge; though for what point or purpose she was not sure. He mentioned something about forging himself a new blade a few days ago, although it seemed late in the day to start such a project. She was off duty now, her armor had been laid out on her bed neatly, piece by piece. She wondered if the elves could see her now, staring down at them. She wondered how they could possibly feel more comfortable sleeping out in the open than within the safety of the mountain. Such strange creatures.

A knock came at the door and she turned slowly, glancing at Daren's bedroom door out of habit. The boy had taken to knocking whenever he needed to cross her room to get to the main door. He was getting too old to be staying with her now comfortably and soon he would be getting a room of his own. It was then that she remembered Daren was at the forge, so it was not him.

She made sure she was decent, pulling an overcoat on over her light gown just to be sure, before going to the door.

She was not surprised to find Thorin there.

"Good evening." She greeted, allowing the dwarf into her room. He muttered the greeting back, then without hesitation he strode over to the balcony and looked down, glaring at the now nearly invisible figures of the elves. The sun had nearly set completely and the elves, despite their natural gleam, were fading into the darkness.

"They come to our halls only to show us discourtesy." Thorin growled. Faren braced herself for one of his moods. He'd discovered years ago that the woman was good at listening to his tantrums and had defaulted to coming to her to unleash his wrath. The subjects she had heard them on were endless. This one, she thought, would be one to remember.

"What discourtesy have they shown us?" She asked quietly, approaching him from behind. She closed the doors to the outside, leaving his glare without direction and then embraced him from behind. It was a small gesture and she likened it to calming a child having a fit over something they couldn't control, like a headache or tiredness. Thorin was quiet, but reached into his over robe furiously and emerged with something, slamming it upon the nearest end table. Her eyes fixed on it as it swayed to and fro, adjusting to the manner in which it had been thrust into the wood.

She recognized it immediately. It was the crystalline dagger. The one of a kind dagger that had been forged by Daren and gifted to the Elvenking.

"It was found outside the gates, dug into the side of the cliff face." Thorin growled, still angered by the thought of it.

"Good." Faren responded, intimately rubbing the prince's chest from her position behind him. He jumped, she felt his muscles tense in further anger. She pressed her face and torso into his back to mute her earlier terse comment, buying herself time to properly word her full reply. "Why should I want a fine blade, forged by a dwarven smith and my own son, to be given away to elf royalty, when it could remain to protect dwarvish blood. It's probably for the best."

Thorin calmed even more, but he was clearly still irked. He was right, it was a great insult and the stubborn, dwarvish outlook was the only thing she think of to mildly soften the blow. He turned, so he too could hold her and they stood there, in a lover's embrace.

"Will you tell the king?" She asked quietly, fearing his response. With Thror's current state of mind he was unpredictable; it would not be wise to rile him. But such things should be reported to the King.

"No. Let him think the Elf took the blade. I see no point in troubling his mind." But the King's mind was troubled and Thorin's decision was less out of consideration for the old dwarf and more out of fear. He did not fear that should the king know of the dagger's rejection it would lead to war; in fact he would prefer that over the alternative.

The alternative being that the old dwarf would be so caught up in his treasury, that he wouldn't care at all. Not in the slightest.

And such a thought filled Thorin with dread.


	5. Chapter 4: Market Day

**Chapter 4: Market Day**

The prince stirred under the covers, eyes opening slowly. He relished the feeling of Faren's warm, bare body was pressed against his own. He felt her change position, rolling away from him, but she did not wake. Careful not to disturb, he turned to her and stared at her lax face as her eyes moved under her lids. The light had begun to seep through the crack in the balcony doors, making her flaxen hair glimmer like white gold. He played with a strand briefly, before turning once more to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling.

It was not uncommon for Thorin to wake up this way.

Over the past years, their relationship had developed. It was a slow progression at first, it began with light touches and whispers, but nearly two years ago it had become more physical. Now, a week did not go by without the prince sneaking from his chamber to her home. But he could not help himself; Faren was his comfort. She bended with his moods and knew how to calm his fury and despair. He _needed_ her.

He frowned. To think that he had to sneak!

Indeed he had grown tired of trying to make his comings and goings invisible in his own halls, for fear of prosecution or judgement. Thror was not an issue; so consumed by the gold sickness was he that he rarely even appeared for mealtimes. It was his father, Thrain, who was the cause of this discomfort. As if by some sixth sense, his father seemed to know when he was returning from one of his trysts.

He decided then that he should just marry the woman and be done with it. He was 75 now, still young but not outrageously young to marry. He had a feeling his father would oppose the union, probably for the sake of appearances. She had been denounced from her clan, had raised a human boy and had few friends in court. Not necessarily the best choice for a future queen; but she was the one he wanted.

He climbed out of bed and pulled on his clothes; glancing back at Faren's sleeping form once more. He decided he would make it a point to ask Master Balin for advice on the matter. Although not much older than himself, Balin seemed to have become quite wise.

It was a good thing the dwarf was visiting.

XxX

Daren was surprisingly popular amongst the human girls of Dale. Still a spry twenty years of age, he possessed a warrior's physique and a money-lenders brain. He stood at about five-ten now and had far surpassed in size the dwarves that he preferred to call his kin. His beard had grown, although it still remained a modest length. Tall, dark and handsome was the description Faren had often overheard on her trips to the market. And what a mystery, the girls would giggle, that such a great man could be raised by dwarves!

He was at the forge in Dale today, helping the old human smith with his work. They were crafting a large multitude of pikes to be sent to the nearby village by the lake. They'd been having trouble with wolves, it seemed, and they found themselves in need of more proper weapons than hooks and shovels. The forge had become unbearably hot thanks to a combination of the red coals inside and the sun outside. Even though he had long since become accustomed to the heat, sweat poured down his brow making his work more difficult than it needed to be. Looking to the older smith for permission and receiving a polite nod, the young man pulled his tunic off over his head. He was instantly relieved, able to feel a slight breeze against his chest. He then went back to work, hard muscle under tan skin recoiling with each stroke of the hammer.

He was too preoccupied to notice the tiny gasps, whispers and giggles that came from just outside the door. When Faren approached the smithy she was amused to find a gaggle of young women clumped together, fighting to see through the narrow crack. She stopped and watched briefly, peering distantly into the far window only to see her shirtless son working away, oblivious to the commotion he'd caused. Suddenly feeling mischievous, the dwarf woman came up behind the group and pushed the door in, sending the girls falling forward into the smithy. There were a few squeaks and screeches as embarrassed girls scrambled to run away before their identities were revealed.

Daren stood watching the commotion, confused and trying to figure out exactly what had just happened. Without hesitation, Faren entered, glancing back outside one more time and chuckling at how quickly the girls had managed to disappear.

"Hello, dear!" Faren greeted cheerfully, pretending the earlier fuss hadn't just happened. She placed her arm load of groceries on a nearby workbench. "Morning, Master Adair." The human smith nodded in return but didn't take the time to look up from his work.

"Mother." The young man smiled back, deciding that whatever had just taken place wasn't important enough to ask about. He thought to himself as he listened to his mother natter on about the price of vegetables this week and how hard working dwarves of Erebor ought to be given discounts. They defended Dale after all, it was only right. The entire time he continued his work, determined to finish at least three more pikes by the end of the day.

"Mother, you know as well as I do that if they started giving dwarves discounts on food, their crops would be gone in a week for much less than its worth. Dwarves are skilled enough hagglers as it is. " He told her, dipping the iron hot pike into some water before grabbing a cloth to wipe his face. He missed a smudge of coal, which Faren came forward to wipe off fussily. There were times when she couldn't help treating him like a child; the urge to baby him still overwhelmed her.

"Shouldn't you be training with Thorin today?" She asked, inspecting his face once more before shooing him away and back to work. The man shrugged and went over to the grocery bag, digging around until he found an apple. He bit into it, leaning up against the workbench with crossed ankles.

"Shouldn't you be guarding the king?" He shot back. The dwarf woman frowned in response.

"I had decided to sleep in today. Geor has taken my place for now." She then crossed her arms, tilting her head. She expected an answer for her earlier inquiry.

"Master Balin is visiting." She nodded, that made sense. Balin was a lord of a colony far to the south and his line made him the direct successor to the throne of Moria. Lately there had been talks of the dwarves marching on Moria, eager to reclaim one of the finest dwarf cities. It was second only to Erebor itself. Faren had no interests in these talks; she had no sway in the matter so there was no point in being concerned about it.

Just then there was a rumble and the stone building they were in cracked and creaked. As if being compressed by some great force. Disturbed, Adair moved up to the closest window and looked out. Faren and her son shared a glance before exiting the smithy and standing up on the stoop. The winds whipped and churned through the air, whipping the pair's hair around wildly.

There was a terrible screech in the distance of some hellish beast that none could identify. Both mother and son forgot how to breathe, hearts jumping to their throats and lead sinking to their stomachs. Around them, activity had stopped as people stood with eyes turned to the blue sky. Kites weaved and smashed, nearly tearing themselves apart in the air.

Just then, a great ball of fire flew towards the nearest watch tower, completely destroying it upon contact. There were screams from the people below as they realized what was happening.

"Dragon! Dragon!" A guard ran by screaming, attempting to rouse the crowd and get them moving. Faren turned back to the smithy, only to have it destroyed before her. The blast flung the two citizens of Erebor across the street and into the nearest wall. Daren's wide eyes stared back at the ruined smithy in shock, for upon the rubble sat the dragon. It stared back at him, with piercing golden eyes. It bared its teeth in a sinister grin and a noise akin to a chuckle beat through its throat. But Daren was not afraid; he had not yet registered that he should be. His mind was foggy and he had been winded when he hit the stone wall. The dragon rose up from its crouched position, curving its neck like a snake preparing to strike its foe. It was going to kill him; incinerate him, in fact.

Just as the fire flung from its mouth, singeing the ground between its snout and where the young man sat, Daren was pulled away. His mother had grabbed him and pulled him out of harm's way in time, struggling to bring her son to his feet and bring him to a run at the same time.

"Tell the King...Smaug has come!" The deep voice of the dragon reverberated through the city of Dale, shaking the earth and decimating the few buildings that stood. He was answered by the screams of the destroyed city's few surviving residents. The thing spoke!

With a single beat of its gigantic wings it sent it upward again.

Weaponless, Faren and Daren had no other choice but to flee what was left of the city of men. They were a mess, covered in soot and dust. The dwarf woman's dress was tattered and unrecognizable, while Daren was regretting ever removing his shirt. His bare back bled, scratched and cut from where the stone had punctured his skin. The skin of Faren's palms were all but scraped away, he could feel her tinges of pain through their connected hands. She struggled with every stride.

Instinctually, they were dashing for Erebor's gate, he realized then. Towards the dragon. All he could see the dragon's tail as it finished its invasion of the mountain and he stopped in his tracks, locking his arms around her mother to keep her in place. The watched as their remaining kin began to surge from the mountain.

Tears slid down Faren's cheeks and Daren held in a roar of despair.

It was the end. Erebor was lost.


	6. Chapter 5: Wayward Dreams

**Chapter 5: Wayward Dreams**

_The woman stared back at him with a neutral expression, as if she felt nothing for him. If he were to be honest, he felt nothing for her either; nothing at all. She had haunted his dreams so many times before, that he expected to feel some form of attachment to her...or at least hatred, for she also had a habit of bringing nightmares. Showing him things he would have never wished to see. She made his sleep far from restful, as every time she appeared she took him on a new journey, and when he woke he felt the effects of that journey. Should they run across the flat lands of Rohan, he would wake breathless. Should she lead him off a cliff and into raging waters below he would wake sore and tired. It was as if in the night he had truly crossed the grey mountains, glimpsed the halls of a full Moria, or stood outside the gates of Mordor. There was never anyone else in the dream, or at least no one he could interact with. Of course the Middle Earth that he saw__ in his sleep was filled with dwarves, elves and men who went about their business. He'd tried to speak with them before, or change the course of a conversation or battle; but each time he was powerless. He was a ghost, whose only companion was a silent stranger with a glassy gaze and emotionless air. _

Daren had become a wanderer and had remained one even after he had received word that Thorin had founded the new Kingdom in Ered Luin. He had visited briefly, for only a few months mostly for the sake of his mother. She missed her people.

When Erebor had first collapsed, the mother and son had assumed the royal family was destroyed and had chosen to strike out on their own. They had travelled south, towards the Kingdom of men known as Rohan. The pair hoped to gain work there as smiths, for men were awed by dwarf craftsmanship and would pay a pretty price for it. Not only that but they would have been more welcome among men than dwarf kind; for they had only enemies in the Iron Hills and no friends in the mountains near Rhun either. It was only by chance that a decade later, during Daren's thirtieth year, that they had received news of their kin.

Traveling merchants from the Iron Hills liked to collect news from the smaller dwarf settlements they came across, most of which were now formed by Erebor's scattered people. The merchants had heard of the dwarf lady and the man who crafted exquisite blades, and had gone to them to request a few for their stock. It was then Daren and Faren learned of what had happened after they had left for Rohan; that the elves had left Erebor to the dragon and left the remaining dwarves of Erebor for dead. Some allies. Faren did not seem as surprised at this as Daren was.

The next news was bittersweet.

The exiled King had tried to take back the ancient halls of Moria and had fallen in battle. His son, Thrain had disappeared. And his grandson, Thorin whom they now called "Oakenshield", had felled the great pale orc; Azog the Defiler. To hear that he still lived had sent Faren into hysterics, for she had accepted that her love was long dead.

The pair made the decision to go in search of Thorin. If he still lived, than that meant that the two still had ties to the dwarves and owed them anything they could give. They left Rohan, slowly making their way west, following rumours from settlement to settlement. They did not travel swiftly, for there was no guarantee that if they rushed west they would find the spurned dwarf prince that they sought.

It was whispers of a new dwarf kingdom that finally brought them to Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains, where Thorin now ruled. Daren could tell that his mother was happy once more as soon as they entered the mountain. It was not as grand as Erebor, nor as large as Moria. It did not have the richness of the Iron Hills or the knowledge held within the Rhun settlement.

But it did have dwarves, and it had Thorin.

This was the new home that Faren had pined for over the last ten years.

But Daren discovered that, while his heart swelled to once again be amongst the race that raised him, he did not feel the same satisfaction that Faren did. He was only slightly more content than he had been over the previous decade amongst men. He realized that the only mountain he could ever call home was Erebor. This was not home to him, simply another mountain which he felt unwelcome in due to the blood of men that flowed through his veins.

After his mother had settled in, he left the Blue Mountains. Once more he had a thirst for the winding road and had reoccurring dreams of a woman that made him restless.

He returned only briefly after that, summoned back for nothing short of his mother's marriage to Thorin. Propriety now meant little to the remnants of Erebor's people, so none opposed the union. The once prized bloodlines were a thing of Erebor, something they had lost.

Another forty years passed and he returned once more; but this was out of fear for himself. Forty years and he had not aged a day. At first the dwarves were not troubled, he seemed to be aging like any dwarf should, but once he pointed out that such a thing was not normal for the race of men they too became concerned. Ered Luin did not have a vast wealth of knowledge, for anything ancient knowing these dwarves had now lay forgotten in the depths of the Lonely Mountain. Still, it did not keep him from searching. His search of the various dwarf archives of Middle Earth lead to no results. He had also gained access to some of the men's archives, though they were even less informed than his mountain kin.

After returning to Ered Luin once more to spill his troubles upon his mother, she had suggested he go to the elves. She said it was only logical, the elves always boasted their superior knowledge, perhaps now they had an opportunity to see if they were true to their word. It couldn't possibly make things worse. She even offered to go with him, but Thorin had strongly opposed the entire idea. He would not have the elves thinking that the dwarves were incapable of a little research...even if it was partly the truth. Neither Daren nor Faren would travel to the elves; not as long as he lived. Daren himself was actually glad for the dwarf lord's avid rejection; the man had never particularly felt comfortable around elves and would prefer to stay away from them. He didn't stop his search. He continued to look and wander, even going so far as to return to the bank of the River Running, precisely where he had been found. The secrets upon those banks remained hidden to him. The trip was a waste.

It took a few years but, after searching for so long with little result, Daren began to almost forget why he'd been searching in the first place. Why did it matter so much where this youth came from, as long as he had it, correct? The troubling thoughts of his everlasting youth were slowly nudged aside and he began to enjoy his days as a wanderer of Middle Earth. He settled into a routine. It became a habit of his to return to the Blue Mountains every Durin's Day and stay until the next full moon, then he would leave to wander once more. He enjoyed his brief visits to see his mother and the dwarves of Ered Luin. He helped Thorin organize trade agreements and often minded the dwarf's two young nephews, Fili and Kili.

_She had long dark hair and eyes like coal that flickered with some kind of fire that he suspected only he could see. She never smiled at him; she would just stare for a time and then walk away. Some imaginary force always dragged him along behind her. He'd tried to fight it once or twice, but he would be punished with piercing pains in his skull and lungs._

Now, eighty-five years later he stood at the gates to the Blue Mountain settlement, weathered and worn from travel. The guards were weary of him, but an order from Master Dwalin who had been passing by at the time had allowed him sanctuary. He knew he would have gotten in eventually, but he was grateful for the son of Fundin's help. It had begun to rain shortly after he had caught sight of the gates and he didn't fancy lingering for longer than he had to in the weather.

He pulled his hood down, running a hand through his damp tresses and making sure his braids were intact. He happily discovered they were.

"Daren Durinsward! How are ya lad?" Dwalin asked, clamping a hand on the man's arm. It was meant to be his shoulder, but even though he was one of the tallest dwarves Daren had ever met, he still could not fully reach. Dwalin was a very intimidating dwarf, with a long beard, bald head and a multitude of tattoos. Dark eyes twinkled at the new arrival from under brushy, dark brows.

"Well enough, Master Dwalin. Yourself?" The two continued to share pleasantries as they moved into the depths of the mountain, discussing rumours the mountain's growing population and general gossip. The most well received area of conversation was that of Daren's latest works. The travelling smith was beginning to become quite notable. He still had quite a few of his better works wrapped and strapped to his back. Fastened over his shoulder and hanging down behind him was a satchel full of smaller items that he could fashion easily and sell wherever he went, such as garden tools and building supplies.

Dwarf children, probably no more than twelve, stared at him wide-eyed as he passed. Many had never seen a man before; they had probably never left the mountain sanctuary, so to see a man who appeared as he did would be all the more confusing. The last time he had been to the mountain had been Durin's Day and he usually tried to slip in and out quietly. He was used to the stares. He was an enigma, no matter where he went. He was a man, a tall man at that, who looked like a dwarf and moved like a priest who was plagued by the Valar's messages. He kept his beard clipped to a modest length as he had discovered that long beards were difficult to travel with. He still displayed his braids happily in his hair and now on his beard. His clothes were also dwarvish in style, consisting of a dark embroidered tunic, dwarvish mail and chest plate and a long cloak made of wolf pelt.

"Yer mum will be happy to see ya." Dwalin commented as they made their way through the darkened stone halls and closer to the lord's keep; to Thorin's home. "As will Thorin. He's got a proposition."

Daren was even more curious then he was when he got Thorin's summon. He only ever appeared on Durin's Day and everyone accepted that. When a band of dwarf merchants had found him in a small village on the border of Rohan and Gondor, he had been more than surprised. "You've been summoned by Thorin Oakenshield." Was what he had been told. He thought about not answering the summons; no matter how much he respected Thorin he hated the thought of being summoned anywhere. Years of being forced to follow a woman in his dreams had made the thought of being told to go anywhere unbearable. But logical concern for why Thorin would go so far as to summon him had brought him back.

"A proposition?" He asked, more confused than before. Thorin's affairs were his own, Daren was seldom involved. The dwarf lord was too stubborn to ask anyone for assistance.

"Aye. Thorin's had mighty strange visitors as of late." Dwalin left it at that as the doors to the court hall swung open before them. There was no throne in the Blue Mountains, only a long stone table in which Thorin led council discussions. If Thorin could not be King under the Mountain it seemed he stubbornly decided he would not be a king at all. It had worked out well for him so far, Daren had to admit, after what had happened with Thror the dwarves had been slightly less receptive to the idea of a king. As he entered he had a sudden pang of longing for the great throne room of Erebor and he knew he was not the only one. As he approached Thorin, who stood surrounded by a mass of old dwarf lords, he realized that they were having similar feelings. He could see it in their eyes as they gazed upon the ex-prince. The idea of a king was becoming romanticized once more; it was only natural for dwarves to follow a King.

When Thorin saw him the discussion stopped. The dwarf lord's eyes were alight upon seeing the man and a small smile emerged. He dismissed the other dwarves and moved forward to address Daren. It wasn't until the room was clear of everyone but himself, the man and Master Dwalin that the proposition revealed itself.

"Daren, my lad. How are you?" Daren was quiet for a moment, staring at the dwarf king, before he answered.

"I am fine, Thorin. It has not been long since I was last here." Straight to the point. That was the best way to go.

"Indeed." Thorin was quiet for a moment, glancing at Dwalin once before moving to linger farther away from the man. "Erebor is in our grasp, Daren."

Daren's breath caught in his throat.

"I am assembling an expeditionary group and I am also traveling to the Iron Hills to seek aid in this venture from Dain." Daren's face morphed into a scowl. He had no love for Dain. Where had Dain been when his mother and himself had been treated unjustly upon his own lands. No where. Dain had been sitting in his halls, drinking mead and stuffing his face.

"I wish for you to be part of the expeditionary force," Thorin explained. Excitement made his heart pound. He felt invigorated at the proposition. Re-take Erebor? But of course. In his travels he hadn't heard mention of Smaug in nearly two decades. Perhaps the dragon was gone? "Are you with me?"

A grin spread across the man's face and his dark eyes flickered with excitement.

"Of course."

XxX

Thorin had gone back to his business, readying the settlement for his up incoming absence. Daren, accompanied by his mother, would be meeting Thorin in a month's time at a marked place in Hobbiton. He hadn't thought to ask Thorin why they had chosen Hobbiton of all places until the opportunity had long since past.

Daren had felt in the way when the dwarf lords suddenly returned to the council room so he had crept away and found his mother, who had been sewing with Lady Dis. Faren was not the domestic type, she never had been and even now the dwarf woman seemed very out of place. But, Lady Dis was a domestic women and with so few dwarf women to spend time with Faren had attempted to pick up new habits in order to increase her social life. Today such things were cut short.

Needless to say, after a short exchange of greetings with Dis, Daren stole his mother away. The two went down into the depths of the mines where they could talk more privately. Thorin's chambers had ears, you see and this time of night the mines were abandoned.

"Why Hobbiton?" Had been his first question, hoping Thorin had graced his wife with some further insight on the matter.

"A Wizard told him that it would be the best place to hold a meeting of such nature. He also said that he would be choosing a burglar from there. We'll need one on this quest." Daren had missed everything she had said beyond 'wizard'.

"I'm sorry, mother. Did you say...a wizard?" He didn't know whether to laugh or roll his eyes. All his years traveling he'd never once encountered a wizard.

"Yes. Gandalf, was his name. He approached us nearly a fortnight ago. It was he who suggested that Thorin send for you." Faren explained.

"Me?" Daren asked, completely surprised. "Why on earth...? I've never even heard of the man."

"Oh! We assumed he was an acquaintance of yours." Daren just shook his head in response. The two stopped walking for a moment, looking up into the high caverns where diamonds twinkled like starlight from the dark.

"Well, we thought that because...well, because he knew about your dreams." Faren finally stated quietly, also looking a little unsettled.

There was more silence. Daren wasn't sure what to say about that.

"He gave me this, to give to you. He said it would help." She reached into a pocket within the folds of her skirt and brought out a golden amulet with a large garnet in the center. The red jewel glowed darkly and he suddenly felt very drowsy from gazing at it. "He called it the Amulet of Estë and he told me it would bring you peace. I believed him, he seemed very trustworthy you know and we did assume he was a friend of yours. I've carried it around ever since, hoping that I could get it to you as soon as you arrived."

Daren didn't say anything; he just reached forward to gently take the amulet from his mother's hand. He smiled at her wearily. When it came in contact with his skin he suddenly felt rested, like he'd just had a long, full night's sleep...something he hadn't had in decades. He took a deep breath, staring into the Amulet. To take trinkets from strangers could be dangerous, but as he gazed upon the garnet jewel and relished the calming sensation he suddenly felt he pushed logic away.

Without another thought, he placed the amulet around his neck.


End file.
